---

As Nikita entered the conference room she was surprised to discover that she had beaten Michael there. Walter and Birkhoff were already seated at the table. Even as Nikita sat down beside Walter, Operations entered the room. But no Michael. Nikita stared at Operations, waiting for him to make some comment, but he simply walked over to the computer at the center of the table and began typing at the keyboard.

"I thought Michael was coming," Nikita commented to Walter. "He's the one who told me about the briefing."

Walter grinned at the beautiful blond, knowing that her interest in Michae's whereabouts ran deeper the superficialness of mere, idle, curiosity. Nikita wouldn't admit it to herself, but she was locked into Michael's frequency, even if her station suffered heavy static. Both operatives needed fine tuning into each other's psyche. But it wasn't Walter's place to interfere, so he simple responded to Nikita's question.

"Michael had to take care of a mission crisis in the Middle East. He'll be along shortly."

"No Madeline and no Michael," Nikita drawled. "Wonder what this mission is about." She was simply making idle chatter, so she didn't expect a response, nor did she receive one. Drawing a stick of chewing gum from the hip pocket of her white jeans, Nikita unpeeled the wrapper then folded the cinnamon stick into her mouth. She wadded up the paper and tossed it at Birkhoff, a smile curving her lips when it bounced off his nose. Then Nikita swiveled in her chair, just in time to see Michael come gliding into the room.

"Sorry I'm late," Michael stated, as he moved to the chair at the head of the table.

Operations logged off the computer, slid his glasses off his nose then nodded at Michael. He wasn't angry for he was the one who had assigned the younger man to handle the Middle East mission crisis. Michael had done so swiftly and, no doubt, precisely. "Let's begin," he said, addressing the group assembled before him. "First off, understand that this is not a mission briefing, but what I'm about to tell you stays within these ranks until further notice. Is that clear?" Operations let his eyes rove the table, taking in everyone's nod of consent.

Nikita watched as Operations paused to pinch the bridge of his nose. Only now did she realize that he look tired and haggard, his skin pale and his eyes shadowed. The muscles in her stomach clenched for she sensed that what he was about to tell them was not going to be pleasant. She was right, but not in the way she expected.

"Madeline is no longer with us," Operations announced. A cold smile tugged the corners of his mouth as he listened to the deafening silence that filled the room.

"Why not?" Nikita asked, being the first to recover from the shock. "Where is she?"

Operations locked eyes with Nikita, seeing genuine concern for Madeline in the pale blue eyes. "That doesn't concern you," he replied, bluntly.

Walter offered the next question, knowing he was the only one likely to understand the direct implications of Operation's statement. "Who's her replacement?"

"Michael," Operations replied, then he waited for the reaction. It was swift in coming. All eyes locked on to Michael, and Operations could see that he was as stunned as the others, yet kept his mask firmly in place. Only a flicker in the silver-green eyes betrayed him.

"What's going on?" Nikita demanded, only to feel Operations' icy-cold stare. But she refused to be intimidated and would have asked again, only he waved her to silence with the slash of one hand.

Rising to his feet, Operations replaced his glasses then pinned them all with a glare. "You're dismissed," he said, quietly, then he watched them rise from the table and file out. All but one. Operations turned to look at Michael. He knew the young man would have questions.

Michael moved to stand across from Operations, with only the table between them. He clasped his hands in front of him, expression carefully neutral as he locked eyes with his superior. "I assume that I'll be covering Madeline's duties until you get a permanent replacement," Michael whispered.

"No," Operations replied, his own voice harsh. "You are the replacement, Michael. Madeline chose you as her successor and I concur with that choice."

"What about my cold op duties?" Michael countered.

Operations smiled as he moved to perch on the edge of the desk. "You will no longer be going out into the field, Michael. I can't afford to lose you. Just as Madeline did, you will over see all missions from here."

Michael wanted to argue the point. He knew where his strengths lay. In the field, as a cold op. It was where he belonged. But he didn't argue because he knew it was futile to do so. Operations had made up his mind. Outwardly, Michael's expression and body language conveyed his acceptance. Inwardly his mind was in chaos. But his eyes were empty as he asked, "Am I being replaced?" By that he was referring to his former position within Section.

"Your duties are being reassigned," Operations allowed. He was studying Michael intently, and was pleased to see that the young man was dealing with the shock of his promotion quite admirably. He had expected no less of Michael. The operative was like a rock. You could chip away at him, but you couldn't break him.

"To whom?" Michael queried, with more than a passing curiosity.

Operations paused, standing up and removing his glasses, this time tucking them in his shirt pocket. His eyes locked on Michael's he replied, "Sydney."

Michael was stunned. He remained where he was as memories washed over him. Some good, some bad. Mostly memories he had tried to forget.

"Is there a problem?" Operations asked, as he watched Michael's eyes shade from silver-green to emerald.

"No," Michael promptly replied. Then he blinked away the shadows. "No problem. Sydney is a good...operative."

Operations nodded. "She is. She'll be here tomorrow. You'll have double duty until then." He turned to leave.

Michael strode around the table and cut him off at the door. "I'm not ready for this," he whispered, a final plea. "You should choose someone else."

"Madeline felt you were ready," Operations drawled, his eyes growing cold as ice. "I agree with her. We all learn as we go, Michael."

"Of course," Michael replied, knowing that his fate was sealed.

Operations saw the change in Michael's eyes, knew he had now accepted what he could not change. It was a trait he had always admired in the other man. His ability to accept and adapt. And it was always to Section's benefit. He turned to go then remembered something. "As we speak, you're being moved into Madeline's office." There was a pause as Operation's locked eyes with Michael, then he added, meaningfully, "Your office."

Michael nodded. There was nothing to say.

"Anything else?" Operations prompted, glancing at his watch. He had the President on hold.

"Is Madeline alive?" The question was out before Michael could stop it.

A grim smile curved Operation's thin lips. "Yes!" he hissed, then he turned on his heel and strode off.

"Yes..." Michael whispered, feeling relief wash over him. The expression on Operations' face had intrigued him, but Michael knew better than to press further. Now that he had acquired Madeline's job, Michael knew he should head for his new office and tap into her files, familiarizing himself with the missions she was working on. But he found that his body was trembling, knees threatening to buckle. Michael went to the table and sat down in the nearest chair. Then he buried his face in his hands and waited for the moment to pass.

After leaving the conference room, Nikita had trailed Walter back to his station. The old man was her best bet for learning what was really going on. Walter seemed to know a little bit about everything, and everyone. Even Michael. As Walter moved to his work table, Nikita perched on a stool.

"So, Walter..." she drawled, a sweet smile on her face. "What's really going on here? Where's Madeline?"

"I haven't got a clue, sugar," Walter replied, as he fitted goggles over his head. He had alot of work to do. And questions of his own to keep him preoccupied.

"Michael looked stunned," Nikita commented, as she remembered the look on his face. He had turned pale, his eyes burning in his beautiful face.

Walter sighed. "I'm sure he was," he allowed. "What do you care?"

Nikita jerked on the stool as if she had been slapped. "What's that supposed to mean?" she shot back, eyes flashing blue sparks.

"You know exactly what it means," Walter drawled. "Come on, sugar. You keep going hot and cold with Michael. Make up your mind...for both your sakes, wouldja?" Why he was suddenly going off on this tangent, Walter didn't know. He was feeling out of sorts by what had just happened in the conference room. And, for once, he was better able to relate to Michael's feelings, than Nikita's.

"Michael is the one who keeps stringing me along, Walter," Nikita hissed. She was hurt by the old man's words.

Walter shook his head. "You're stringing yourself along, Nikita." When she would have protested, he lifted a hand to silence her. "Hear me out. I've been wanting to say this ever since the Jurgen fiasco and now I'm gonna. Michael isn't like anyone else around here. He can't afford the luxury."

Nikita shook her head and couldn't help interrupting. "Wait a minute, Walter. What's going on here? Are you defending, Michael? I thought he wasn't one of us? You know..the five percent club."

"I was wrong," Walter replied, his eyes glimmering with sadness. "Michael frustrates me sometimes....because I remember the kid who came here fourteen years ago. He was alot like you, sugar. But he learned to adapt to his surrounds, where as you rebel against everything. Everyone."

"Not you, Walter," Nikita countered in her own defense."

Walter nodded, then sighed. "Even me, Sugar. Remember Petrosian?" By the flash of pain in Nikita's eyes, Walter knew she remembered her betrayal of him. "You did that for Michael...and for yourself. I understand that now. But stop playing Michael. You used Jurgen to hurt him, to make him jealous. It worked. But then, when Michael tried to give you what you wanted...you blew him off. If you don't want him...let him go. All the way, Nikita."

Tears filled Nikita's eyes and she blinked them back. "I don't why I bother," she confessed. "Michael doesn't love me. He can't. He's dead inside."

"No he's not," Walter countered, somewhat fiercely. He moved over to Nikita, so they were eye to eye. "Michael is broken and bleeding inside, but he can't show it. Not even to himself. But he would die for you, sugar."

"You don't know that!" Nikita hissed, although a part of her was desperate to believe it.

Walter reached up and tucked a strand of Nikita's pale hair behind one ear. "Yeah...I do know," he whispered. "Whenever you've been in trouble and I've wanted to help you...but knew there was nothing I could do. I've gone to Michael. Because deep inside, I knew he would help you. And that he would betray Section to do so. And I was right."

Nikita bit her lip, her thoughts swirling in her head, her emotions washing over her like waves crashing on the shore. She felt bruised inside. She sniffled then said, "Why are you telling me this now, Walter?"

"I don't know," he replied, with a shrug of one shoulder. "I guess because of what's happened today. The changes that are going to be made."

"What changes?" Nikita prompted.

Walter sighed. "Michael taking Madeline's place is just the beginning," he whispered.

Nikita frowned. "You know...I'm surprised that Operations' chose Michael to replace Madeline," she commented.

"Why?" Walter countered, his eyes locking on Nikita's face. "You...of all people....should know that Michael's a master manipulator. That's what Madeline did. She got in people's heads, found their weakness...and used it against them. She knew how to play you, sugar."

"Yes...she did," NIkita conceded, and she felt anger and shame flood through her at the thought. Thinking back, it did make sense for Michael to take Madeline's job. He had learned from the master and was a quick learner. No doubt Madeline's prized pupil. But Nikita had another thought. "Will someone be replacing Michael? Taking over his duties?"

Walter pinned Nikita with a hard look. "Bet on it," he whispered, then he turned away.

Nikita knew she was being dismissed, so she slid off the stool and wandered off. And her footsteps led her towards Michael's office.

************

Nikita was halfway down the corridor towards Michael's office, when the realization struck her. Michael was doing Madeline's job now so, no doubt, he would have her office. That thought in mind, Nikita did an about face. Even as she passed by Walter again, she spotted Michael leaving the conference room. Nikita called out to him, "Michael!"

He stopped, waiting for her. When Nikita reached him, Michael locked eyes with her then said, "Yes?"

"Can we talk?" Nikita beseeched, frowning as she saw the shadows that darkened Michael's eyes to emerald. It was obvious that he was still off balanced by what had occurred.

"I'm busy right now," Michael replied, the words coming from his lips but sounding foreign to him. "Maybe later." Without waiting for a reply, he turned and moved off down the corridor.

Nikita wasn't about to take no for an answer, not when it was obvious that Michael needed to talk. Whether he realized it or not. So Nikita trailed behind him, slipping in through the door to Madeline's office, even as it started to close. Michael's office now, Nikita reminded herself.

Michael was aware of Nikita's presence as he moved to sit behind Madeline's desk. His desk. The chair felt stiff and unyielding as he sank down in to it. It wasn't his place. Yet he had no choice but to make it his own. There was no going back, so Michael had to find a way to make it work. Without looking at Nikita, but feeling her blue eyes burning into him, Michael swiveled the chair so that he was facing Madeline's computer. He flicked on the switch and waited for the screen to come up.

"What happened to Madeline?" Nikita asked, as she dropped into the chair across from Michael. The desk between seemed to be a mile wide.

"I don't know," Michael replied, his eyes flickering over Nikita's face, but only for a heartbeat, then he focused them on the monitor. He studied the screen for a moment then typed in a code. A moment later a screen came up and asked for his password. He typed that in then came another code. One more password and he was allowed access to Madeline's personal files. She had given Michael her password and codes two years ago as a failsafe. Knowing that he would never betray her trust in this matter. Would not go snooping where he didn't belong. Now that he had access to the information, by rights, Michael found that he still didn't want to see what was written there.

Nikita studied Michael's profile, seeing the sculptured lines and thinking that he truly was the most beautiful man she had ever seen. Then she shook the thought out of her head. This was not a time for idle musings.

"You don't want to be here...do you, Michael," Nikita commented, stating the obvious.

Michael blinked at Nikita, then looked through her. "What I want doesn't matter," he whispered, and Michael felt regret that Nikita hadn't yet learned that lesson. It was the first one he had tried to teach her. But she was so damn stubborn. He loved that in her, yet feared it as well. All the more so now that things had changed. And not just the situation or his status. Michael knew that he would change as well. It was inevitable. Nikita resisted change, digging in her heels in an attempt to stop it. Not for the sake of Section, but for herself. She refused to change what she felt...or her way of thinking. Another admirable trait that had no place in Section One. Michael feared that Nikita was about to learn that lesson the hard way, and blamed himself for not being stricter with her. If she failed, the blame lay upon his shoulders. No where else. He was the one who allowed for her compassion. The one who had refused to break her spirit. To crush her soul. And he would be the one left to sweep up the fragmen ts of Nikita's humanity, once it had been shattered. It would happen. Too late to change the chain of events now.

"It should matter," Nikita replied, then she expounded on her comment when Michael looked surprised. "You have a right to expect your opinion to matter, Michael."

"I have no rights here, Nikita," he countered, his tone growing harsh. "No freedom. You know that."

Nikita let a cold smile curve her lips. "I know lots of things, Michael," she conceded. "I just don't neccessarily accept it as written in stone. Or should I say...blood?" Sliding forward in her chair, Nikita locked eyes with Michael, forcing him to hold her gaze. "It's our blood..." she whispered, fiercely. "So we should have a say in things."

Michael didn't disagree with Nikita's logic, he just knew it wasn't conceivable in their situation. "Let it go," Michael beseeched her, even as he relinquished Nikita's gaze, his eyes returning to the monitor screen. Michael's hands were poised over the keyboard, but he typed nothing.

"I never expected this, Michael," Nikita countered, abruptly changing tactics. Two could play at this game and she was playing to win.

"Expected what?" he prompted, curious in spite of himself. Michael knew he should ask Nikita to leave. Not that she would go.

Nikita grinned, but it held no warmth. One hand gestured about them. "This..." she allowed. "I guess I always assumed that you were being groomed for Operations' position. That you were *his* protege."

Michael dropped his hands into his lap, then swiveled in his chair so the he was facing the beautiful blond. "You have an aversion to seeing the truth, Nikita," he whispered. For a moment they were locked in a stare down, and it was Nikita who finally looked away.

"So....who will be replacing you?" she questioned, eyes flickering about the office and coming to alight on the bonsai trees that Madeline had so carefully tended to. She had left everything behind, which made Nikita all the more curious as to where the dark-haired woman had gone. And why. But, for the moment, Nikita concentrated on Michael. She wanted an answer to her question.

"You'll meet them tomorrow," Michael replied, once again turning away. He stared at the files on the monitor screen but it might as well have been Ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics for all that he comprehended their meaning. Nikita was proving to be too much of a distraction. Michael should have been used to it by now, but he wasn't. Forcing his mask back into place, Michael affixed Nikita with his patented *blank* stare. "Is that all?" he questioned, pointedly.

Nikita nodded, rising from her chair. She knew there was no sense in trying to push him any further. But when she reached the door, she stopped.

"Michael....if you need...or want...to talk. I'm willing to listen," Nikita offered, without turning to face him.

Michael let silence fill the room before replying, "Since when?" The words slipped out unbidden, and and he felt himself tremble. For in that moment Michael realized that the silken threads of his control were swiftly unravelling. He tried to focus on the task of weaving them back together, but the fragile strands were stretched too thin. Poised to break.

"Touche..." Nikita whispered, remembering her talk with Walter just a few minutes ago. Michael's words were like a slap in the face, but Nikita recognized that she deserved it. That didn't make it hurt any less, however. Blinking back tears, Nikita slipped out the door and was gone.

"Nikita..." Michael called out, knowing it was too late. That she couldn't hear him. He stared at the door for a long moment. Listened to his ragged breathing echoing in his ears. Then it faded into silence as Michael drew his cloak of cool detachment around him, like a shield. But all it offered was the illusion of self control, which he clung to like a child would a security blanket. Yet it couldn't protect Michael from the demons of his own making. They danced about like macabre shadows in the darkness of his soul.

************

When Nikita entered the briefing room, the first person she noticed was the newcomer. A woman, maybe forty, with short black curls, steel-gray eyes and a lush figure. She was dressed in a grey skirt hemmed to just above her knees, a matching blazer over a jade green blouse and gray pumps. As Nikita passed by she noticed that the other woman matched her height but Nikita was wearing flats. It gave her a, childish, sense of satisfaction to know that she was taller. But it irritated Nikita that the woman was talking to Michael.

Operations entered the room just then. His eyes fell upon Nikita and he saw jealousy flicker across her face. A smile curved his lips as he moved to the head of the table.

"Sit down," Operations ordered, then he waited as Michael and his companion obeyed. "Over here, Michael," Operations called out, gesturing to the seat beside him. The place where Madeline used to sit. Even though she often took a seat on the other side of the table, Operations wanted it established to the others that Michael's position had changed. He wanted Michael to accept it as well. Once the younger man had seated himself to Operation's left, the head of Section One began.

"First things first," he stated, his eyes flickering to the black haired woman. "This is Sydney. She's relocated from Section two and will be taking over Michael's duties. To that end she will start by heading the new mission." Operations nodded at Birkhoff as he spoke and a holographic image of a man appeared in the center of the table. Letting his eyes flicker over the faces of the four cold ops across from him, which included Nikita but not Sydney, Operations began. "This is Richard Murdock. He's a CIA bureaucrat. He has partnered himself with a terrorist faction and it's their intention to start a privately funded war. A war paid for, unknowingly, by our government. They have the weapons and are recruiting the manpower as we speak. Our latest intel informs us that they're relocating in Turkey. A convoy of men and weapons will be coming through the Khatta pass tomorrow night. Your job is to stop them. Sydney has the mission profile, she'll fill you in on the rest of the details. You leave at dawn." That sa id, Operations turned and left the room.

Nikita's eyes were on Michael as she rose from the table. She saw his eyes flicker towards her then move away as he glided off in Operations' wake. Nikita was disappointed, she had hoped to talk to Michael. To discuss what had been said in his office yesterday. But given the expression on his beautiful face, Nikita knew enough to leave him alone for now. They could talk after the mission. That decision made, Nikita turned to face Sydney. She smiled as she replied, "So...you're taking over Michael's job."

Sydney smiled back at Nikita, her eyes roving over the young woman and taking in her full measure. She had read Nikita's file thoroughly. She did that with all the operatives. Better to know who she was working with, since Sydney didn't like surprises.

"Do you have a problem with that?" she countered.

"No problem," Nikita replied. "Just...wanted to say hello."

"Why is that?" Sydney challenged.

Nikita shrugged. "Don't know. Thought it would be...nice."

Sydney laughed, a dark sound. "I'm not here to make friends, Nikita," she commented, then she turned and walked away.

"Good thing.." Nikita muttered beneath her breath, then she left as well. She needed to talk to Walter. The old man was at his station and Nikita forgot amenities such as *hello* to ask, "What do you know about Sydney?"

"Hello to you too, sugar," Walter countered, pointedly. Then he grimaced. "All you need to know about Sydney is one hard, fast, rule. Stay on her good side."

Nikita almost choked. "Does she have one?" As far as she could tell, Sydney had less of a sense of humor than Michael. Scary thought.

Walter sighed, looking up from the circuit board he had been working on. "Just be careful, Nikita," he warned.

"Always," she drawled, as she curled a lock of hair around one finger. "Does Michael have a past with Sydney?" It wasn't a fair question to ask and Nikita knew it, but she asked it anyway.

"We all do...in one way or another," Walter allowed. "Mind your P's and Q's, sugar. Okay?" Walter couldn't emphasize this enough, even though he knew that Nikita was too stubborn to take his advice. She would always do things her own way. Follow her own path. The thought of her doing so around Sydney terrified Walter. Nikita had no clue as to how easy she'd had things with Michael. But all that was going to change. Nikita would learn the truth about Michael...the hard way.

Nikita leaned forward to buss Walter's cheek. "I'll be good," she promised, then she offered him a sweet smile before turning and strolling away.

Walter shook his head as he watched her go. "Good luck, sugar," he whispered, then he went back to work.

The mission profile was simple. Nikita was point one. Her job was to take out the drivers of the convoy as they passed. There would be three trucks. Taylor was at point two. He was her back up. Wilson was point three. Her job was to scout for incoming hostiles. Hansen was point four, basically a rover. Sydney was in the van with Birkhoff, monitoring her team. Once the drivers were taken out, Nikita, Taylor and Hansen were to drive them back to check point alpha where transport was waiting. Richard Murdock was supposed to be in one of the trucks. He was to be taken alive for questioning.

Nikita watched the road from her position. All was clear and she reported in.

"Anything, Birkhoff?" she asked.

He stared at his monitor then smiled. "Heading your way, Nikita," Birkhoff replied as he stared at three blips that had suddenly appeared.

"Take them out clean, Nikita," Sydney ordered.

"Got it," Nikita replied, moving to lie on her stomach and site through the scope of her rifle. But even as the first truck appeared around the bend, Nikita heard a commotion in her ear. It was Wilson.

"Inoming hostiles," the other woman announced, then she screamed.

Nikita heard shots fired and was on her feet and running towards point three. "I'm going after Wilson!" she announced.

Sydney cursed. "Stay in position, Nikita!" she hissed.

"She's already on the move," Birkhoff announced, as he tracked her on his screen.

"Taylor, take point one," Sydney ordered, then she fell silent as she watched the mission play itself out.

Nikita sat by a window, staring out at the clouds as the transport headed back to Section. She was feeling pleased with herself, but her smile faded as Sydney dropped into the seat across from her. They hadn't spoken since Nikita had disobeyd orders. She knew she would hear about it, but wasn't particularly worried. After all, the mission had been a complete success.

Sydney locked eyes with Nikita then got to the point. "You disobeyed my orders, Nikita. I don't like it. Don't let it happen again...understand?"

"What's the problem?" Nikita countered, putting out a hand when Sydney started to rise. "We completed the mission successfully."

"That's not the point," Sydney drawled. "Is it?"

Nikita glared at her. "What is?" she challenged. "Look...Hansen was in trouble. I went to help her, and saved her life. I knew Taylor would back me up. It's called team work."

Sydney locked eyes with Nikita and was amused by the fact that the blond didn't waver. She was brave, but naive. "You're not Cinderella, Nikita," Sydney replied. "Michael is not the handsome Prince...and I'm sure as hell not your fairy godmother."

"What does Michael have to do with this?" Nikita interjected, her eyes flashing blue sparks. By the look in Sydney's pale eyes, Nikita sensed that the woman knew more about her past with Michael than Nikita was comfortable with.

"You seem to have trouble grasping reality, Nikita," Sydney countered, her own eyes shading to silver. They were twin flames of white fire. Ice cold rather than burning. "I'm the one who gives the orders, you're the one who obeys them. I've just warned you never to make the mistake of disobeying me again. Consider it a freebie. Your first...and only. Cross the line again and you will suffer the consequences. Is that simple enough?"

Nikita resisted the urge to crack her palm across Sydney's face. There was a glimmer of a smirk tugging at the woman's mouth and it infuriated Nikita. She wasn't even sure why.

"Very...simple.." Nikita replied. It wasn't exactly a concession of understanding, more a statement of acknowledgment that the gauntlet Sydney had thrown down was being accepted.

Sydney stood up, a smile curving her lips. She understood the other woman perfectly. "Good. We won't ever have another conversation like this one, Nikita," she whispered, then she walked away. And the echo of her warning lingered in the air like a cold chill.

Michael was with Operations on the second level when the call came in that Sydney's team had returned. Mission accomplished.

Operations was pleased and a smile curved his lips as he turned to Michael. "Interrogate Murdock personally," he ordered. "I expect a full report by noon."

"You'll have it," Michael replied, then he turned and exited the room. As he strode down the corridor, Michael couldn't help the sigh of relief that escaped him. No losses had been announced. Nikita had survived. It was this thought that carried Michael through the rest of his day.

************

Nikita had been expecting the summons. Had become impatient waiting for it. But now she was back in Michael's office, sitting in the chair across from his desk. It occurred to Nikita that he hadn't made any changes to it. Everything was exactly as Madeline had left it. Nikita would have loved to take a stroll through Michael's psyche right about now. To try and understand what he was feeling. What this promotion meant to him. She knew better than to ask him. So Nikita banished those thoughts and introduced the matter at hand.

"You know what happened," she stated without preamble.

Michael turned away from his study of Madeline's plants. For a brief moment he had felt a sense of serenity, but the moment was gone. Fleeting and fickle.

"I know," he said softly. Locking eyes with Nikita, Michael whispered, "You were wrong."

"What?" Nikita sat up in her chair, eyes frosting over. Of all people, Nikita had thought Michael would understand, and approve. He had accepted her actions in the past. Had even accepted the blame for them to save her the backlash. Michael had born the brunt of Operation's anger on Nikita's behalf, many times. It was one of the realizations Nikita had come to during her six months of *freedom* from Section. And the things Walter had said to her the other day confirmed Nikita's suspicions, as it were. "Why was I wrong?" she demanded now. "The mission was successful and I saved Wilson's life."

"You disobyed direct orders, Nikita," Michael countered, his blank stare unwavering. He could see the pain that his words were causing the beautiful blond, but they had to be said. She had to see the cold reality, and accept it for once.

Nikita was too angry to see anything but red. "Sydney's orders would have gotten Wilson killed!" she hissed, trying to get her point across.

Michael breathed a sigh and moved to stand at the corner of the desk. "Doesn't matter," he replied. "It was Sydney's choice. Her...burden...to bear. Do you understand?"

"No.....I don't!" Nikita snarled. She was out of her chair and in Michael's face. "It would have mattered to you, Michael," she breathed. Nikita locked eyes with him, but there was nothing for her to see in the depth of his silver-green gaze. Just emptiness. Nikita shivered, but pressed her point. "You would have accepted it. You always have." It was the one thing Nikita had been able to rely on as a constant.

"But it wasn't me," Michael reminded her. He wanted to look away from Nikita, to break the intensity of her gaze. Shutting her out was becoming to much of an effort. Michael's grasp on his control was slipping. But he couldn't back down, not now. Not this time. Nikita wouldn't survive if he let her off the hook. "Don't cross the line with Sydney," Michael whispered.

Nikita heard the harshness in his soft tone and saw a flicker in his green eyes. "You know her," she drawled.

Michael nodded. "Yes."

"How well?" Nikita knew she shouldn't have asked, and knew Michael wouldn't answer, but she didn't back down. Never would.

"You can go now," Michael replied, turning away. He would let Nikita win this round. But the fight wasn't over, not by a long shot.

Nikita stared at Michael's back, at the broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist. He wasn't wearing a blazer today, just a turtleneck, and Nikita found herself admiring the contours of his tight butt. Only to remind herself that Michael was out of reach. What had happened between them on the boat was nothing more than a memory. Best to be forgotten. But Nikita carried it with her as she turned towards the door and walked away.

Sydney had made herself at home in Michael's old office. She hadn't changed anything, nor added any personal effects. It wasn't her way. A cold op had a short shelf life. Every time she went out on a mission, the possibility existed that she wouldn't return. Sydney had accepted that fact a long time ago, so she saw no reason to collect things. Although she did seem to be on a winning streak. She was forty years old and had been with section for twenty years. A good run.

The job she was doing now was the same as what she had done in Section Two. Just a different location and different faces. Although some of the faces were familiar. Die hards, like herself. One of them stood in the doorway now. Sydney smiled.

"Hello, Michael. Come in," she invited.

"Thank you," he replied, stepping into the room. Michael made it a point to leave the door open.

"Is anything wrong?" Sydney prompted, when he simply stood there, hands clasped in front of him. She thought Michael was even more beautiful now than he had been ten years ago. The pretty boy had become an exquisite man. His sensuality more fluid than it had been. Michael was no longer intimidated by his own sexuality, iIt was as much a part of him as breathing. A powerful, and potent, weapon. "Sit down," Sydney requested, then she waited, knowing Michael would speak when he was ready.

Michael did sit, hands clasped in his lap, his eyes flickering about the room before settling on Sydney's face. "How do you like it here?" he asked.

She smiled and it was genuine, reaching her pale eyes. "Is that what you really want to know, Michael?" Sydney countered. She knew him well and was impressed at how skilled he had become at playing the game. No emotion glimmered in his beautiful eyes. Madeline had seen to that.

"I wanted to welcome you back," Michael countered, the corner of his mouth lifting in a begrudging smile. Allowing Sydney this one point.

"Was I missed, do you think?" Sydney questioned, and the question was sincere.

Michael's eyes drifted down to his hands. His fingers twitched and he stilled them. "Things are different now," he replied. "Ten years is a long time."

Leaning back in her chair, Michael's chair, Sydney let her eyes rove over his face. She liked the stubble he was wearing. It made him look more human somehow. Less perfect. It was a reflection of the wild, untamed spirit that burned in Michael. The one he so effectively dampened.

"Some things never change, Michael," Sydney whispered. "I don't change much. No reason too. Walter seems the same."

"He's changed too," Michael countered, his eyes moving back to Sydney's face. She possessed an exotic beauty that was a bit dark, so different from Nikita's lightness.

"I was sorry to hear about Simone," Sydney commented, and she did so to get a reaction.

Michael blinked at her then said, "Thank you. You would have liked her."

There was a mug of coffee on her desk, lukewarm now, but Sydney reached for it and took a swallow. She knew that they were coming close to the reason why Michael had come to see her. But Sydney was determined to wait him out. If Michael wouldn't say the name, neither would she. He said nothing and the silence stretched between them. Sydney was comfortable with it, but she was curious as well, so she spoke up.

"You've done well for yourself here, Michael. I'm glad."

"Sydney..." he began, but the phone on the desk rang. Michael found his muscles contracting as it was habit to reach for it. But it wasn't his phone anymore.

"Yes?" Sydney spoke into the mouthpiece, listened a moment, then held out the receiver. "It's for you."

Michael accepted it. "What is it?" he asked, then he listened. A moment later he rose from the chair then replaced the receiver in it's cradle. "I have to go."

Sydney nodded. "You know where to find me," she offered. They both knew that this conversation wasn't over. Something lingered between them. Someone.

"Goodbye," Michael whispered, then he turned and exited the room. But as he strode down the corridor a name echoed in his head. Nikita. Michael banished her image, but found that he could not detach himself from the emotions his thoughts had evoked. Nor could he seem to detach himself from the pain that stabbed in his temples. It had wrapped around his head, like a vice, the moment Operations had named Michael as Madeline's successor. And he was convinced that relief would only come with oblivion.

But Michael knew better than to wish for what he couldn't have. Or so he believed.

************

"What's wrong, kiddo?" Walter asked, as he studied Birkhoff's expression. The computer whiz seldom looked morose. Birkoff had long ago learned to mask his feelings, and seldom let anything other than surprise flicker across his baby face.

Birkhoff sighed as he turned to face Walter. "I think I miss Madeline," he confessed. And it was a strange realization for, in truth, the woman had intimidated the hell out of him. Birkhoff was far more terrified of Madeline than he was of Operations. Although both had held the power of life and death over him.

Walter nodded. "Things are different now," he conceded. And he didn't mean different because of Michael or even because of Sydney, although changes had been made in their regard. What Walter was thinking was that Operations had changed. He was harder and colder, edgier than before. Thankfully, Michael seemed willing to run interference for the rest of them, taking the brunt of whatever emotion Operations chose to spew out at the time. Walter knew why the head of Section One had changed. He missed Madeline too. But Walter kept this thought to himself.

"What do you think happened to Madeline?" Birkhoff questioned, his eyes locking with Walters. It was a question he had been wanting to ask since the day Operations had announced that Madeline was gone. He still hadn't bothered to share with them just where she had gone to. Birkhoff didn't have the guts to ask anyone else, although he doubted that even Walter knew the answer. The old man would have told him already if he did.

"I haven't got a clue," Walter conceded. "Your best bet is to ask Michael."

Birkhoff grimaced. "Michael's busy," Birkhoff muttered, finding an excuse not to bother. He was kind of hoping that Walter would offer to go in his place.

But Walter was on to Birkhoff. "If you want to know...then you gotta go," he said firmly. "Besides...I've got work to do." With that, Walter turned on his heel and headed back to this station.

"Thanks alot," Birkhoff huffed, then he ran a hand over the top of his head ruffling his hair. Felt strange since he was letting it grow out a bit. Gail had asked him to do it. "Quit stalling," Birkhoff chided himself, knowing that his wandering thoughts were just his way of ff grimaced. He felt closer to Michael than he ever had to Madeline. When Birkhoff had first arrived at Section, Michael had kind of taken him under his wing, acting like an older brother. Teaching him the rules without being too blunt. Birkhoff had always appreciated that fact, even though neither of them spoke of it. Yet he found himself unwilling to approach Michael in the lion's den. Madeline's old lair. Heaving a sigh, Birkhoff stood up and headed down the corridor. No sense in avoiding the inevitable.

Michael was studying the files on his monitor when Birkhoff entered the room. Files on the newest recruits. Without looking up he queried, "Yes?"

Birkhoff didn't respond. He simply stood just inside the door and ran his hand over his head. Fear curled in his stomach, twisting into knots, and he felt his arm pits grow damp. Problem was, he didn't know why he was afraid, but anxiety nearly made him turn and run.

"Sit down," Michael whispered, turning in his chair to look at Birkhoff. He could almost feel the young man's fear and thought perhaps he did understand it. Birkhoff did not accept change easily, and Michael had changed. "You want to know about Madeline," he said softly, once the computer whiz was seated in the chair across from him.

"How....yes....how did you know that?" Birkhoff stuttered, his eyes locked on Michael's face. The silver-green eyes revealed nothing, hidden behind a mask of neutrality, but sometimes Birkhoff believed that Michael could see into his soul.

Michael almost let a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. "You and I don't exactly *chat*, Birkhoff," he replied. "The only reason you would come here is to ask about Madeline. I wish I had something to tell you."

Birkhoff nodded, feeling remorse wash over him. "Yeah...that's okay," he replied, then headed for the door."

"She's alive," Michael whispered, watching Birkhoff's footsteps falter.

"You're sure?" Birkhoff countered, turning back. His eyes lit up with hope.

Michael nodded. "I'm sure." He knew that Operation's wouldn't have lied. Not about that.

Birkhoff felt a silly grin cross his face. "That's good to know," he replied. But then the smile faded as a thought occurred. "What do you think happened to her, Michael?' he asked.

"I don't think about it," Michael confessed, and it was true. Mainly because he was afraid of where his thoughts might lead. Although there was a tiny voice in the back of his consciousness that kept whispering to him that Madeline had made the choice to leave Section One. Michael hoped it were true. And if it were, he envied her. But Madeline had earned the right to make that choice. Michael knew he never would.

"I don't think I will either," Birkhoff replied, then he exited the room.

Michael waited for the door to close, then he turned back to the computer screen, only to discover that the text was blurred. Pain stabbed in his temples like a white-hot blade and his eyes burned. Reaching into the desk drawer, Michael pulled out a tiny bottle of eye drops. Tilting back his head, he put two drops in each eye, blinked, then waited. Momentarily his vision cleared. As Michael put the bottle back in the drawer, he noticed the silver tabs of pain killers. It would be so easy to swallow two of them and let darkness claim him for the next six hours. But oblivion was a luxury he could not afford. So Michael closed the drawer with a slam then went back to work. But he was painfully aware of the fact that the line he had drawn to separate the man from the operative, was becoming blurred. And there weren't any drops he could take to put things back into focus again. No light and dark anymore. Only shadows.

Walter was surprised at being summoned to Michael's office. He was a bit anxious as he strode down the corridor and entered the room, but was distracted by his surroundings. Madeline had never invited Walter into her domain, so this was the first time he had seen the place. It suited her personality. It didn't fit Michael so well. Lately Walter had likened the young man to a caged lion. Beautiful, powerful, deadly...and trapped.

"You wanted to see me, Michael?" Walter offered in greeting.

"Yes," Michael replied, turning from his computer to lock eyes with the old man. "Are you still working on that micro chip project?" he asked, without preamble.

"And what...microchip...project would you be referring to?" Walter countered, his eyes narrowing. Technically he was working on two projects, but only one was sanctioned by Section.

Michael lifted one hand, his fingertips rubbing at his forehead, trying to ease the pain. Detaching himself from it was becoming more and more difficult. He was easily distracted as of late, proof of which showed in his unconscious gesture. One that revealed much to Walter.

The old man studied Michael with concern, seeing that he was pale and his eyes were shadowed with pain. "You okay, Michael?" he asked, with genuine concern.

"Fine," Michael replied, his standard answer. He dropped his hand to his lap when he realized what he was doing and shuttered his gaze. "I know about your...off duty...project, Walter," he announced. "I need you to make it your first priority. I may have use of the digital micro chips, if you can make them work properly. It will be our...secret."

"Sure, Michael," Walter replied, but he was stunned. Not so much by the fact that Michael knew what he was doing, but that he was sanctioning him to do it, and was willing to keep it from Operations. Things had certainly changed, Walter decided. Then he thought of Nikita and amended to himself, maybe not. When it came to protecting Nikita, Michael did whatever he had to do. Suppression and secrecy were part of the deal. "How soon do you need the the prototype?"

Michael didn't blink. "As soon as possible. Keep me updated please."

Walter nodded. "Sure thing. Um....is that it?" He started for the door.

"No," Michael whispered, then he waited for Walter to face him again before he continued. "I want you to keep an eye on Nikita for me. Let me know if..." Michael broke off here, uncertain of how to express his intent.

"If she needs you," Walter supplied, a smile lighting up his face. "Don't I always, Michael?" he countered, softly.

Michael let a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. "Thank you," he replied, knowing that Walter would understand. And he was grateful that the old man could be relied upon to watch over Nikita. It was more difficult for Michael do so now. He was under Operations' microscopic eye more than ever with Madeline gone.

Walter knew that lay of the land. Understood the laws of Section better than anyone. "Nikita is a survivor, Michael. Just like you. She'll be okay," he declared, then he turned and left the room.

"Not like me," Michael whispered, when he was alone. His vision blurred again, but this time with unshed tears. Michael blinked them away then turned back to his computer. But all he saw was a blank screen. Black and empty. The reflection of his soul. Michael didn't want Nikita to ever understand the darkness.

************

Nikita was tired. She had just finished debriefing after returning from her second mission with Sydney as team leader. Nikita had followed orders exactly and the mission had gone off without a hitch. Sydney hadn't said a word and Nikita was glad. It was better that way, for both of them. As she was heading towards the exit, Nikita spotted Michael heading her way. She sensed that he was simply on the move and wasn't looking for her, but she found herself stopping him.

"Hello, Michael," Nikita drawled.

"Hello, Nikita," he replied, his eyes flickering over her face. Michael then took in the full view, liking the clingy pants and silk shirt that Nikita was wearing. The pants were white and the shirt was ice blue. Light colors. Michael loved seeing Nikita in light colors. He felt they were a reflection of her soul. "I heard about the mission," Michael commented, his eyes returning to Nikita's face.

"I was a good girl," she replied, a sly smile lighting up her face. They both knew why Michael had mentioned it. Nikita reached out and brushed an imaginary speck of lint of Michael's shoulder. She wanted an excuse for studying him more closely. Nikita didn't like was she saw. Michael looked exhausted, his eyes weren't so much blank as they were glassy and shadows were smudged beneath them. She could guess he wasn't sleeping, and he looked thinner. But she didn't comment on his appearance. Nikita already knew what Michael's response would be. He would simply tell her he was *fine*. She opted for a different tactic.

"I was heading out for some coffee," Nikita said. "Wanna come?"

It was on the tip of Michael's tongue to tell Nikita he would love to, when Birkhoff tracked him down.

"Yes?" Michael said, inviting the computer whiz to speak.

Birkhoff grimaced, guessing that he had interrupted yet another Michael and Nikita moment. He seemed to have a habit of doing that. A bad habit. "Operations wants to see you, Michael," he reported. "ASAP."

"I'll be right there," Michael replied, his eyes closing for a brief moment. He could only guess at what the emergency might be, and he was certain that he wasn't going to like it.

"I'll tell him," Birkhoff said, then he was gone.

Nikita sighed. "Some other time then?" she countered, hopefully.

Michael nodded. "Some other time." With that he turned and glided away, feeling the heat of Nikita's gaze burning into his back, and remembering the heat of her passion. But that moment in time on the boat seemed like a million years ago.

The moment Michael was out of sight, Nikita went in search of Birkhoff. He was at his station, which was no surprise, and Nikita plopped into a nearby chair.

"Birkhoff...is Michael okay?' she asked, without preamble.

"Michael is...Michael," Birkhoff replied, as he glided his chair around to tap into the computer behind him. He didn't want to get in to this with NIkita, but he knew how persistent she could be.

"Bullshit!" Nikita hissed, pushing her chair into Birkhoff's path then holding him hostage by gripping the seat of his. "Is he all right?" she prompted, knowing that Birkhoff had more contact with Michael on a daily basis than she did.

Birkhoff shrugged, then locked eyes with Nikita. "I don't know," he confessed. "Michael is different lately."

Nikita resisted the urge to smack Birkhoff upside the head for being so obtuse. The thought made her smile, however, as she remembered the time Michael had done just that, smacking Birkhoff on the back of the head for being cocky.

"Different...how?" Nikita persisted.

"Just...different," Birkhoff replied, slapping NIkita's hands away and turning back to his computer. He started typing on the keyboard at a furious rate, hoping that she would get the hint and leave.

"Thanks, Birkhoff," Nikita drawled. She heaved a sigh then took off, feeling like she needed a drink instead of coffee. And she knew just the place. But even as the thought occurred, NIkita knew that she would go straight home, curl up with a glass of wine and think about Michael. "You need to get a new hobby, girl friend," Nikita muttered to herself as she headed for the exit. Then she laughed at the absurdity of her thoughts, uncaring of those who stared at her as she passed. Better to laugh than to cry.

When Michael entered Operations office it was to discover that his superior was in a fury. He blacked out the windows so that no one could see them then lit up a cigarette and took a long drag. Michael was surprised. Operations had been trying to quit smoking.

"What's wrong?" he asked, after listening to Operations complain about everything from the fixtures in the bathroom to the color of the newly painted Medlab. The white wasn't white enough. Michael knew these issues were trivial. Simply Operations way of letting off steam. Yet he sensed there was something behind it. Could guess who. Madeline. But Michael would never speak his thoughts out loud.

After another drag on his cigarette, Operations crushed it out then turned to answer Michael's question. "I want you to cancel Madison," he announced.

"Why?" Michael countered, letting his surprise show. He hadn't been expecting this. Madison had reached Team leader status six months ago and had been doing a good job to date. An excellent job, in fact.

"You read the report on the Systec Mission?" Operations countered, his eyes boring into Michael's.

Michael nodded. "I read it. Mission was completed successfully."

Operations smiled, a cold curving of his thin lips. "No thanks to Madison," he hissed. "I want him cancelled, Michael. Do it now."

"I don't think that's a good idea," Michael countered, his tone soft and respectful, yet laced with steel. He clasped his hands in front of him and held Operations' glare.

"I'm not asking you to think, Michael!" Operations snarled. "I'm telling you to obey orders."

Michael didn't flinch when the other man got in his face. He blinked, then whispered, "We need Madison. Cancelling him is a mistake you will regret later." Michael decided that what Operations needed to hear now was facts. When the other man didn't respond, Michael decided to press his point. "If I cancel Madison we'll need an immediate replacement. Next in line is Nikita."

Operations grimaced, remembering her last time out as team leader. Before Madeline had left, they had discussed the blond operative and had reached the same conclusion. She wasn't ready for the promotion.

"I don't like mistakes, Michael," Operations drawled, and it was a definite warning.

"I'll speak to Madison," Michael replied, sensing that Operations was giving in. "It won't happen again." At least not the same mistake, Michael amended silently.

"You do that," Operations countered, then he laughed. "Madeline taught you well," he said softly.

Michael had no comment for that so he turned to go, then he realized he hadn't requested leave. "Is that all?" he asked, turning back.

Operations was about to nod, but then he studied Michael. The younger man was pale and appeared somewhat agitated. Not a normal behavior pattern for him. "How are things, Michael?" Operations queried.

"Fine," Michael replied. Standard answer, and a lie.

"Is there anything you want to talk about?" Operations prompted, sensing that there was something Michael wasn't telling him. And he hated secrets.

Michael was about to say no when he decided to be honest, only he couldn't explain why. "I miss being out in the field," he whispered.

Operations heard the wistfulness that colored Michael's tone. But he wouldn't offer false hope. "To be honest, I miss having you out there, Michael. But I can't afford to put you at risk. I need you here more. You understand?"

"Of course," Michael replied, experiencing a moment of deja vu. They had had this conversation before. "If that's all," he stated, heading for the door again.

"One more thing," Operations called after him. He waited until Michael was facing him before he added, "You're doing a good job, Michael." It was the first time he had ever praised the younger man and Operations knew they were both surprised.

But Michael hid it well. "Thank you," he responded, almost too softly to hear. Then he left the room.

Nikita sat in the open doorway of her patio, enjoying the cool night air. She had a Shawn Colvin tape playing and a glass of wine in one hand. Off to one side was another glass. Empty. Nikita sighed and stared at it, then she raised her glass in a toast.

"Here's to...what might have been." Then she closed her eyes and a single tear rolled down her face.

Back in his office, Michael sat down in his chair. Pain was stabbing in his temples and he pressed his palms to his head willing it to stop. It was as much a part of him as breathing, but was becoming a distraction. He reached in his jacket pocket and pulled out one of the silver tabs. A quick yank and the tiny pill fell into his palm. Michael swallowed it dry then leaned his head back, waiting for relief to come. By taking only one pill he would still be able to function. Michael counted out a minute then sighed as the pain eased. It never completely disappeared, but at least now it was bearable without affecting his performance levels.

There was a black mug on the corner of the desk and Michael reached for it. He knew the coffee in it had long grown cold but took a swallow never the less. It made him think of Nikita. The last time they had gone for coffee was when Simone had died. So much had changed since then. Michael, Section....Nikita. In many ways she had changed the most. She had grown up alot from the frightened young girl Michael had met four years ago. She had changed, but not in the important ways. Nikita still had a heart, and for that Michael was grateful.

He had reports to do and files that needed reviewing. Michael should have been working on them, but instead he let his eyes close. And his thoughts drifted to Nikita and he wondered if she thought about him when she was alone. And if she remembered the passion of their one night of freedom. A night that Michael would cling to like a drowning man to a life line. And it was that memory that Michael took with him into darkness.